


Fall Back in Love Eventually

by hato



Series: Young Blood [1]
Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, M/M, Making Up, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca needs space.  Marcus needs Esca.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Back in Love Eventually

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Marcus and Esca and Uncle belong to Rosemary Sutcliffe.
> 
> **Inspired by:** _Young Blood_ by The Naked and Famous.
> 
> **Warnings:** Angst, cursing, insane bastardization of Cub, almost sex, crushes, insecurity, OCs, abrupt change in POV for one brief piece, hastily researched veterinary science, etc. 
> 
> **A/N:** First posted quite a while back on my eljay and ffnet. Also, I wrote this entire thing backwards- started with the ending as a little one shot of feels for Annie :) and then it grew into this actual story, lol.

“ Oi, Esca! ”  
  
Marcus turns around before Esca does. And pulls a frown.  
  
Ronan is striding across the quad with an easy grace that Marcus is insanely envious of as he limps at Esca’s side.  The dark mohawk from summer has grown out, though Ronan keeps it trimmed fairly close on the sides. There’s still a tinge of green dye hanging onto the tips of the shaggy top; the remnants of Irish pride from last football season. Fresh mud is smeared from head to toe. Marcus had noticed the rugby match in the far meadow at the beginning of lunch break. Had almost joined in until he saw Ronan among the players. Marcus didn’t have the energy for aggressive posturing.  
  
And besides, Esca promised to have lunch with him today. At his flat. Which means snogging and possibly a blow job. And maybe even food.  
  
Marcus puts on his most disagreeable expression, hoping to discourage the younger man.  
  
Esca pulls away from Marcus and Ronan steps alongside him. A muddy hand reaches out, Esca shakes it firmly. “ Good holiday?”  
  
“Got the folks to spend it in Dublin, so it was better than I expected.” Ronan answers in his own language, glancing at Marcus occasionally. Marcus knows that Ronan knows that he is fluent in Gaelic (Esca’s handiwork). Apparently, Ronan prefers to pretend that Marcus is not. “ You should have come home with us, mate. Oscar really wanted to show you the nativity.”  He glances at Marcus. “ Cottia says you spent your Christmas in Silchester.”  Ronan’s expression clearly asks ‘ Why the hell did you waste an entire holiday in that shithole?’    
  
“ I did. Trying to graduate this spring, ya know. Went to Silchester to work on my thesis. With a classmate. ”  An afterthought. Esca’s broad grin only enhances the sincere regret in his eyes. “ I promise to make it up to your little brother over Easter vacation. The kids still get out of school that week, right?”  
  
 _Classmate_. Marcus can’t believe he just heard that.  He shifts his weight to his right leg for a moment, just to give his overworked left side a little break.  Barely listening anymore, mostly just staring.  At the sidewalk. _Classmate_. At a group of young girls walking by; one with a brightly colored hijab tight about her rounded face. _Classmate._ At Esca’s mud spattered work boots.  
  
Just a _classmate_. Marcus isn’t exactly sure why he finds the term so infuriating. Maybe the way Esca said it in that off-hand manner, as though it was no one of any importance. Instead of Marcus, his friend. His lover.  
  
Marcus’ attention is captured again as he hears Esca mention something about needing to get going. Marcus looks up. He catches Ronan ruffling Esca’s hair and winking slyly. “ You should come to the family farms. I can help you finish your thesis in no time, and then we can muck around all the pubs til graduation!”  He laughs before jogging back toward the impromptu rugby pitch. He throws one last laugh over his shoulder.  “ Meet me at Calleva’s tonight and we’ll talk about your thesis!”  
  
“ See ya at eight!” Esca chuckles and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He turns back to Marcus, rolling his eyes.  “  What a prick. You want to grab some curry?”  
  
Marcus rides behind Esca on the bike, the freezing air cutting through his heavy coat all the way to the bone.  They pick up some containers of hot curry and Esca maneuvers carefully through the back streets as Marcus hangs onto him with one hand and the bagged containers in the other.  Marcus opens the helmet visor and sucks in the cold air. It helps keep the nagging agitation at bay.  
  
Until they reach his flat. The anger and irritation simmering throughout the bike ride quickly boil up once Marcus gets home.    
  
He puts the bag on the coffee table and slips off his coat, back to Esca. “ So I’m just a classmate, now?”  Marcus tries to make it sound just as casual as Esca had.  He settles onto the couch and begins distributing the food containers.  
  
A chuckle. “ What?”  Esca is still in the entry hall, prying off his muddy boots. He looks up and Marcus sees the flicker of understanding and annoyance. “ You know why I said it. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  The boot hits the hardwood. A dull thud and scrape as he places it beside the other on the mud mat.  
  
Marcus can’t let it go.  He leaves the food on the table and walks to the kitchen. To get drinks, he reasons with himself. To avoid looking Esca in the eye.  This is an old issue between them; never discussed, merely accepted as is.     
  
Nothing new. So why does it bother him so much now?    
  
Grinding his molars,  Marcus grabs two beers from the fridge. “ You could have said ‘friend’, at the very least.”   Pops the tops a bit aggressively.  Marcus squeezes the bottle neck, his fingers tingling, still warming up from the ride.  He re-enters the front room.  Esca sits in the armchair, already hovering over the styrofoam box, shoveling curry and rice into his mouth.  Marcus knows Esca is ignoring him.  
  
He should let it go.  He sets a bottle on the table at Esca’s elbow.  Marcus remains standing, taking a long swig from his own beer. “ So ‘friend’ doesn’t cut it either, anymore? Not even with Ronan?”    He can’t seem to move, feet rooted in place between the couch and table.  His leg still aches.  
  
Esca swallows before replying. His voice is infinitely patient. “ Especially with Ronan. I wasn’t about to start a pissing contest between you two.”    
  
“ You could’ve tol-”  
  
“ No.” Definite, hard. Esca drops his fork into the container and grabs his beer. “ And you know why.”  
  
Yes, Marcus knows why.  Because it’s better safe than sorry.  People suspect, of course. People always suspect everyone so there’s no weight given to their theories. Girls still hit on Esca, though most believe he has a betrothed waiting for him in Ireland; orphaned sons of great families always have a betrothed.   Girls still hit on Marcus, though he’s aware that most of the college’s population- student and instructor alike- are under the impression that he and Cottia still have some kind of thing going.     
  
People don’t question their lack of dating.  It’s a convenient cover.  
  
Marcus has all of three friends- outside of his uncle- who know about he and Esca. On Esca’s side there are only two people he’s told.    
  
They’re both pretty sure that Ronan has sniffed them out. But they try to ignore him.  
  
Or they did, until last semester.  With the large undergraduate class looking to graduate in spring, the three clinics serving the college have been short on available shifts for students to acquire their practicum hours. Most of the postgraduates are evenly dispersed, spending most of their required time at one specific clinic; Marcus is responsible for the undergraduate shift at the South Clinic on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, and Saturday mornings.  The undergraduates, unfortunately, have been taking odd shifts, split between the three; Esca has two shifts at the South Clinic and two shifts at the North Clinic- where Ronan heads the undergraduate shifts.  
  
Piss off Ronan. Lose your spot in the rotation. Don’t graduate on time.  
  
He still can’t let it go.  “ Yes, you can! ”  Marcus whirls around, hand shaking around the bottle. “ Just tell him to bugger off! “  
  
“ And do what?”  Esca’s grey eyes flash, though his voice is still low, even. “ I can’t graduate without those hours. Are you going to give me two of your shifts at South? Maybe cut one of the freshman?”  
  
“ Yes!” Marcus doesn’t even hesitate in answering.  
  
Shaking his head, Esca leans back against the couch. “ Stupid sod, I’m not taking hours away from anyone. Not even you. I can deal with Ronan for another few months.”  
  
“ By brushing me off every time he comes around?” His leg hurts, his head hurts. Marcus swings back around and begins to pace the small room. “ Today I’m just some bloke in your class. By the end of the semester you’ll be telling him I’m the binman!”  Beer sloshes over his hand as he gestures.  
  
Esca doesn’t take it sitting down. His jaw tightens as he jumps up. “ If that’s what it takes, then yes!  You know how this school runs, Marcus! The Ronans’ are huge patrons, their donations keep half our programmes going. And if their eldest son doesn’t like something then the faculty bend over backward to keep his approval and continue receiving their checks!”  Marcus stares and Esca stares back. “ So piss him off, Marcus, and see how much money your uncle will have to hand over to see you graduate!”  
  
“ Why can’t you-” More beer spilling out, dripping on the floor and his socked feet.  
  
“ Why don’t you tell people that you and Cottia aren’t fucking anymore?”  
  
Marcus is drawn up short by that. He stops, mid-stride. His green eyes narrow. “ What?”  
  
Esca seems to warm to the change of topic. “ I’ve seen it a thousand times. Heard it even more. The moment the flirting heats up you throw Cottia’s name into the mix to discourage the poor twat.  Which doesn’t exactly work in Cottia’s favor, you know. Or yours, since she’s a bit of nympho since starting here. The blokes all think you’re a pussywhipped fool. And the women all think Cottia’s an unfaithful slut. “  His chest is heaving as his voice rises, the anger flushing his face.  
  
It’s true. Of course. But Marcus isn’t in the mood to admit it. So he grasps at a few straws. “ Come off it, Esca! What about your fiancee hidden in the highlands? Whiskey heiress, right? That’s the most popular story so far!”  
  
“ Dammit! Every time I hear that shite I set the stupid blighters straight! “  Esca is really mad now. Marcus can tell by the slight pulsing in the vein of his temple, the flaring nostrils.  “ Unlike you, I don’t require some make-believe relationship to keep my privacy!“    
  
“ What’s going to happen when Ronan decides this drinks-at-the-pub stuff isn’t enough, huh?” Marcus knows his voice is getting louder and he’s glad his left-side neighbor is away for the week. He just hopes his right-side neighbor, his uncle, is either out or upstairs immersed in his books and classical radio. “ When I’m just the binman and there’s no heiress. When he pins you against the wall and grabs your arse. Are you going to hit your knees for him? Just to keep your spot on the schedule?!”  The bottle is almost empty. Marcus flexes his fingers around the neck.  
  
“ What about Cub?!” Esca fires back.  
  
“ Cub? What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
Grey eyes flashing, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “ You blind idiot! He’s been following you around like a lost puppy for a bloody year!”  
  
“ He’s in my rotation, Esca!”  Marcus is dumbfounded. “ I’ve been helping him with his classes, just like I helped you!”  
  
Esca laughs; not exactly a pleasant sort of sound. “ The poor sod brings you coffee, with 2 ½ sugars and 1 ice cube, every morning you’re at the clinic. He makes copies of all his class notes for you. He fucking dotes on you, 24/7/365! _I_ don’t even do that, Marcus, and we’re fucking! How can you stand there and-”  The shouting ends as quickly as it began. Esca’s lips set in a thin line and he stalks past Marcus. Careful not to touch. “ You are the biggest fool, Aquila. And I’m too busy to deal with it right now. “      
  
It’s happening too fast. They were yelling, getting things said, and then Esca just... Marcus takes in a deep breath and turns around, watches Esca shoving his feet into his boots. The sight sucks all the fight from him. Fear takes its place. “ What are you doing?”  Of all the dumbarse questions.  
  
“ Leaving.”  
  
“... Are you coming back tonight, after your shift?”  Marcus can’t tear his gaze from Esca’s shoulder.  
  
“ No. I’m meeting Ronan.”  Esca slips into his coat, pulls on his gloves.  
  
Marcus shuffles in place. “ What about tomorrow night?” They always eat dinner together on Thursday nights.  
  
Esca pauses, just for a split second, then finishes zipping up the heavy coat. “ No.” He stops altogether, looks Marcus in the face. Marcus forces himself to do the same. “ I’m not coming back for awhile.”  
  
Marcus absorbs the simple statement. “ How long?”  Two days? Next week?  Esca can’t possibly stay away longer than that. Right?  
  
“ Space, Marcus. We both need it.”  
  
“ No, I don’t need any-”  
  
“ I don’t know how long.”  Esca answers the previous question and tucks his helmet under his arm.    
  
And then he’s out the door.  
  
Marcus stands in the entry hall.  
  
Esca just left.  He left.  
  
But he’ll be back. He’s not gone for good. He’ll be back...  
  
The roar of the motorcycle outside does not drown out the crash of the beer bottle thrown against the inside of the front door.  
  


* * *

  
Marcus cannot avoid it any longer.  
  
Cottia has him cornered.  
  
He’d been successful for nearly three days. Giving casual excuses, politely brushing off her inquiries, or simply not being available at all.  Marcus had even turned out his lights and hidden on the floor by his couch when the girl showed up at his flat, peering through the windows.  
  
But Cottia would not be deterred.  
  
She has him now. By the ear. Dragging him across the sun filled courtyard to the shaded car park on the other side of campus.  If he were in a better mood he might be offended, or even amused, by her glares and forceful manhandling. Or by the snickers and whispers he hears from the nearby observers.  
  
As things are, it’s all Marcus can do to not push Cottia down and storm off to find a better hiding spot.  
  
They reach the car park and Cottia’s old Audi.  The alarm system chirps. Cottia opens the passenger door and shoves Marcus inside.  Marcus is tempted to jump back out as she walks around the vehicle toward the driver’s side.  He decides it’s not worth the aggravation of another chase.  His old injury already hurts like hell from the cold damp.  
  
Cottia slides into her own seat. The click of all four locks is loud in the muffled quiet of the car.  Marcus stares at the dash.  Cottia takes her gum out and sticks it on the edge of a coffee cup. “ So. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”  
  
Marcus sighs, aggravated. He could feign ignorance. But Cottia has a nose like a blood hound when it comes to secrets and will eventually snuff it out.  And admitting something is wrong without giving her at least 85% of the details won’t work either.  They’ve known each other too long to have any respect for each other’s privacy.    
  
“ Is it really as bad as all that?”  Cottia sounds much more sympathetic, voice soft. “ Not even an argument to start off? Or a ‘Mind your own bloody business’?”   She turns the car on, heat and radio flowing quietly through the interior.  
  
Another long sigh. Marcus huddles deeper into his muffler and overcoat, his nose just peeking over the top of the thick, green wool. “  Esca... “ It’s hard to say out loud,”  We had a row. Said he needed time away or space or whatever.”  A receipt flutters over the dash vent.  His gaze never leaves it as he shrugs. “ He left.”   Marcus wishes Cottia drove a larger vehicle; he can’t stretch out his aching right leg.  Damn the cold.  
  
“ Esca left?” Cottia shifts in her seat. Marcus glances to the side. She’s knocked the seat back and drawn up her knees, feet pushing against the edge of the seat.  Cottia tilts her head and rests her cheek on her knees.  The golden eyes are firmly latched onto Marcus. “ What the hell did you do, Marcus?”  
  
“ Nothing!” Marcus growls above the muffler, breath steaming in the frozen air. He can feel his jaw and neck tighten up, tension pulling the muscles, hardening his expression. “ Why does it have to be my fault, huh? I didn’t do anything to him! He’s the one who said-”  And he stops because his leg is cramping up, pain shooting from his toes to his hip. Marcus closes his eyes, grinds his teeth, and gets the seat back as far as it will go; his arse lifts up, his head hits the roof, as he tries to gain more room to stretch out his leg.  He forces his foot to flex, to pull the kink out.  
  
A strong grip on his thigh, mitten squeezing and rubbing through the heavy denim. Cottia knows just how to ease the spasms and Marcus blushes despite the pain.  Warm memories of her skilled hands all over his body. Easing and arousing. It’s been years since they’ve slept together, but Marcus still feels that slight tingle whenever they touch. He’s long decided it’s nothing more than his unavoidable male libido tainted by friendly affection. With a similar reaction on her part.  
  
Hence, absolutely nothing like what Esca accused him of a few days ago.  
  
The cramp dissipates under Cottia’s massage. Marcus settles back into the seat, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.  Her mitten leaves his leg and he nods in thanks.  A long pause fills the car. Then, “ What did Esca say?”  
  
Marcus looks out his window, petulant. “ Doesn’t really matter, does it?”  
  
“ Yes, it does.”  
  
“ Fine. He basically said I was a possessive bastard with the emotional intelligence of a rugby ball.”  Marcus riles up, remembering. There had been a lot of shouting and accusations flung about. “ That I use you as a beard and give Cub all sorts of false hopes- whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean, the damn kid has no interest in anything that doesn’t run around on four legs- and being a general, all around shite-for-brains! “ The fury builds and Marcus sorta likes it. It’s more manageable than the lingering self-pity.  He slams his elbow and fist into the door. “ Because, apparently, Ronan-”  
  
Cottia gasps. “ You mean Connor Ronan?!”  
  
“ - is a goddamned saint and genius and I can’t possibly understand Esca the way that hound-fucker can!”  He’s breathing heavily, face hot.  A glance out the windshield. Two undergraduates in his clinic rotation are passing by. Glancing and giggling.  Marcus huffs through his nose and thrusts his hand back into his pocket for safe keeping.  
  
“Well... that explains Connor’s good mood as of late.” Cottia takes a sip from her travel mug.  
  
Marcus makes a rather strangled noise and sniffs. “ Thank you so much, Cottia. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear right now.” He blinks rapidly. Angry watering. Not tears. He’s not going to cry on Cottia’s shoulder.  Marcus tilts his head back against the rest, staring blankly at the ceiling.  Cottia has drawn designs all over the faded gray fabric in black marker.  His eyes follow a swirling knot pattern.  
  
“ Marcus, you had to have said something to set Esca off like that.”  Her red curls shake with her head. “ There’s no way Esca would-”  
  
He curses under his breath and unlocks the door. Marcus opens it, stepping out, spitting out over his shoulder. “ Fuck’s sake, he started it, Cottia! Not me!”  He manages to gain his feet and slams the door behind him.  
  
Marcus limps away with a determined gait and doesn’t look back.  Cottia doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know...  
  


* * *

  
This train is not fast enough.  Marcus needs it to go faster.  
  
It’s been three weeks since the fight, since Esca said he needed space and stopped coming by Marcus’ flat.  
  
Weeks of Marcus moping about during his classes and brooding all through his work shifts. His friends have tried their best to cheer him up and Marcus appreciates the intent, if not the gestures themselves. Drew has checked in on a regular basis; texting invites for study groups and pub crawls. Cub has stopped by briefly each day; silently handing over class notes and Marcus’ favorite energy drink.    
  
Marcus just wanted to be left alone to his misery.  
  
The train doors open and Marcus bursts through the cluster of passengers attempting to disembark.  He has to hurry.  
  
Run, run, run...  
  
A week without any sign of Esca. No calls, no texts. He stays far away from Marcus during classes. Marcus had checked his mobile so often he ran the batteries down each day.  
  
And this morning ,a missed call from Esca. Marcus wished he had not silenced his mobile during class; more than 2 hours before he checked his messages. But it wasn’t Esca’s voice on the message but Mrs. Winsop; Marcus’ left hand neighbor. The elderly woman’s voice had been calm, though Marcus had detected the hint of upset. And then he’d been consumed by his own panic at her words.  
  
 _“ Marcus, dear, they’ve taken Esca to the hospital.”_  
  
People jump out of his way or they are bowled over as Marcus sprints through the street, his gait suffering as his stride lengthens; his right leg is unforgiving of strenuous activity. He dodges incoming  ambulances and finally reaches the emergency room entrance. Marcus nearly crashes through the automatic doors when they do not react quickly enough to his presence.  
  
Marcus’s gaze frantically roves the waiting area and finds the reception desk tucked into the back corner.  He’s two limping steps away and already opening his mouth to ask about Esca’s whereabouts when he collides into a small brunette. “ Rosemary? Is Esca still here? How is he? What happened?”  
  
Rosemary stares in stunned shock for a moment before grabbing Marcus’ arm. “ Turk, it took you long enough!”  Marcus stares back, confused and mute as he allows himself to be pulled along by the arm.  Rosemary’s hard expression silences any protest.  
  
“ This is my husband, Turk Wilkes. He’s on the list,” Rosemary speaks to the nurse behind the desk as she pushes Marcus through the heavy door the second the buzzer sounds.  On the other side, she immediately pulls out her mobile and hides behind Marcus as they walk.  
  
“ What the hell are you doing?” he whispers, still being guided by her hand in the middle of his back. Nurses and doctors barely notice them as they pass by, busy attending to the faceless groans and sobs in the various curtained rooms.  
  
“ Texting Turk to stay in the car park. “    
  
Marcus hears the small, rapid _clickclickclick_ of her thumb flying over the buttons. She steers him around a corner and stops, nudges him into a small alcove just out of sight of the central nurses’ station.  Her hand remains tight on his arm. Marcus reins in his temper and panic. This is Esca’s best friend and whatever is going on, he knows she has Esca’s best interests at heart.  And it suddenly occurs to him that he would not have gotten past the reception desk without her ploy. “ Thank you, Rosemary. How serious? What happened? ” Mrs. Winsop’s message had not contained many details.  
  
Rosemary pockets her phone and shifts their positions until Marcus’ back is facing the hall, her own pushed against the wall. She never fully lets go of his arm. “ He’s fine, he’s going to be fine. They just finished stitching him up. “ Marcus falters, breath catching tight in his chest. Rosemary shakes her head. “ Not as bad as it sounds, promise. Maybe six or seven, at his hairline. The scar won’t even be that glorious. “ She takes her own breath and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  Her pale blue eyes are dim, her face weary. “ He fell. At your flat, Marcus.”  
  
He’s dizzy again. Marcus reaches out a hand and steadies himself against the wall. A sharp pain runs up and down his right leg.  
  
Rosemary continues in her hushed voice.  “ I don’t know why he was there. Mrs. Winsop said she was just coming up the street, walking Horace, and saw him step out the front door.  She was about to say ‘hello’ when he slipped and fell on the stairs. Cr-cracked that hard head of his on the porch, laid him out cold.”  She gives a weak laugh, though her smiles seems genuinely amused.  
  
Marcus closes his eyes. When he’d left that morning, the entire stoop had been covered in a thick layer of ice. He’d nearly fallen himself on the slick top step and had taken the time to throw a large amount of de-ice on Mrs. Winsop’s porch and his Uncle’s. He hadn’t bothered with his own; it would have been melted by the time he got home.  
  
Why the hell had Esca even been there?    
  
“ The concussion is more serious than the stitches; doctor wants him to stay a bit for observation because-” Rosemary pauses, expression pained and Marcus is afraid to ask. “ He went into convulsions, several times, so they sedated him. He was confused the few times he  he regained consciousness, wasn’t sure where he was or how he’d gotten to your place or anything, really.  He doesn’t remember anything after going to bed last night. The doctor says that’s normal- for concussion patients to forget the things right before and after the injury.  Said he’ll most likely remember it all in a day or two, if not by the next time he wakes up.” Her mobile vibrates in her purse. Rosemary scrambles to pull it out and check the message.  
  
Marcus is still reeling from the information and his strong reaction to it.   The background noises of patients and medical staff and the droning PA swirls and swells around him until the air leaves him in a gasping exhale. He has to keep it together.  
  
Esca is fine. He will be fine. Rosemary says so and Marcus has never put his faith in anyone as quickly as he put his in Esca’s pretty little friend.    
  
He’s never been more thankful for Rosemary’s unfailing sense of calm and confidence.  
  
Marcus nods, to no one and in answer to nothing. “ Can... can I see him?”  He wonders why she hasn’t taken him to Esca’s room yet.  
  
She chews on her lip, that same pained expression tensing her face. Rosemary turns her pale eyes up. “ He doesn’t want to see you, Marcus. “     
  
Marcus stares. He wishes she had just stuck a knife in his gut. It would hurt less.  
  
“ It was apparently the first thing he said when he woke up in the ambulance and he was very adamant about it.”  Rosemary is visibly uncomfortable relating this truth. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “ It was the first thing he said when I got here, as well, before his stitches. ”  
  
“ …”  His mouth is open, but Marcus can’t think of anything to say. What can he say to that? “ Well, I guess... I mean, considering things between us...”  He mirrors her foot to foot shift, completely miserable and wanting to crawl under a rock to hide.  
  
“ C’mon.”  
  
“ What?” Marcus’ brow furrows in confusion as Rosemary takes a firmer grip on his upper arm and pulls him along the corridor.  
  
“ I don’t really give a fuck about what’s going on between you two.”  She drags him down the hall, ignoring the raised brows of the staff that cause Marcus to flush and hurry to keep up. “ Or more accurately, I’m tired of it. You need to see him. And he’s unconscious.”  
  
“ Rosemary, if he doesn’t wan-”  
  
“ Oh, shut it!”  She ducks her head around a curtained entrance, obviously checking for any lingering nurses.  Rosemary turns back to Marcus. “ Now grab hold of those supposedly melon sized bollocks of yours that I’ve been hearing about for the past year and a half and man up!”  
  
She shoves him into the room and heads back down the hall. Marcus assumes she’s going to go meet Turk in the car park, watching her become absorbed by her mobile once again.  
  
The hospital noises are muffled behind the curtain and Marcus can better hear the soft breathing coming from the occupied bed.  He fears what he might see, but can’t bear the thought of not knowing for himself. Marcus turns abruptly, not wanting to draw it out.  
  
It’s a normal emergency room cubicle. Clear plexi-glass walls with neutral printed curtains pulled for privacy on all sides. Medical equipment. A mechanized bed.  
  
Esca lays on his back under a thin blanket.  His boots and coat, scarf and gloves,  are piled in a nearby chair.   Recognizes the shirt visible above the sheet; an old Rugby jersey from Marcus' senior year of secondary school.  It’s a bit large on Esca’s slim frame.  
  
Marcus wonders how many of his things are still at Esca’s place. If it bothers Esca at all to wear them. If he thinks about Marcus when he puts them on.  
  
He takes a few steps, drawing near the foot of the bed, getting a better look at his lover’s-maybe ex-lover’s- condition.  
  
Esca is definitely a bit pale, washed out further by the harsh white lighting.  The right side of his face- turned up slightly-  is a stark contrast. Colors are layered and mottled. Blue and purple bruising sweeps along his forehead and temple, extending toward his cheek. Scraped skin is still an angry red accented with darker red smears.  A large white square of gauze is taped at an angle above Esca’s right eye. One corner pushes back into the wildly disheveled hair.  An IV is taped into the inside of his left elbow.  
  
Otherwise, Esca appears to be sleeping peacefully.  Marcus reaches out and barely touches a blanketed foot.  A low whimper comes from Esca’s throat, his foot twitching.  
  
Marcus’ breathing slowly, but surely, returns to normal, his heartbeat thudding less loudly in his ears.  Somehow,  the knowledge that Esca’s feet are still ticklish settles his doubts about the man’s condition.  Marcus smiles, small and unnoticed.  He places himself bedside, fingers resting lightly on the metal rail.  Marcus silently gazes down at the closed face.  
  
There are so many things Marcus wants to say. Right now. Hateful, painful words that pride and fear keep captive behind his clenched teeth.  He wants to say it all to this Esca who won’t scream back, or make rational points, or walk out the door.  To confess. To beg.  
  
But Esca doesn’t even want him here.  
  
Marcus physically flinches at the thought, grip tightening around the rail. He wants to be angry about it. But he’s too damn hurt to be pissed off. Even unconscious, Esca doesn’t want him around.  
  
He shouldn’t have come here.  
  
Marcus shakes his head, lets go of the bed rail.  He’ll ask Rosemary to keep him updated. Maybe he’ll even send some little thing to cheer Esca up, once he’s out of the hospital. Mini-Snicker bars. Or a new muffler; the one on the chair is holding on by just a few threads. .  
  
He continues to stare at Esca, gaze tracing the curve of his jaw, the perfectly broken line of his nose.  If. If this is it, the last time he has this kind of liberty, with no fear of rejection or acceptance. Or even acknowledgment.     
  
Esca could wake up tomorrow and decide to cut Marcus loose completely. For good.  
  
Marcus slides his back teeth together, grinding his molars. Can he walk out of this room knowing he may never be this close to Esca again?  
  
He exhales softly and leans down. Marcus gently presses his lips just above Esca’s ear, breathing in the man’s scent. Committing it to memory. “ Love you.” His whispers stir the short hairs sticking out from underneath the bandage. “ Please...” _Come back to me._ “ Take care of yourself.”  
  
Marcus closes his eyes as he stands, pivoting on his heel and striding toward the doorway.  He pushes the curtain aside, glancing at the exposed strip of wall. In the clear plexi-glass, there is a reflection of the room.    
  
And a pair of open eyes staring at his retreating back.  
  
Startled, Marcus jerks his head around.  Esca is still in the bed, his chest steadily rising and falling. The grey eyes are hidden behind bruised lids and amber lashes.  Exactly as before.  
  
He’s imagining things. Marcus turns away, limps over the threshold, and lets the curtain fall back into place.  
  
Marcus runs into Rosemary and Turk on the way out. A few comforting words exchanged, Rosemary assuring him of regular updates on Esca’s progress. Turk telling him to drop in for a pint, to not be a stranger.  Marcus steps into the sharp cold air.  
  
He decides his afternoon and evening classes are not worth the aggravation and takes the train home, instead. It is a long and dreary ride.  
  
His limp worsens the closer Marcus gets to his flat.  
  
His uncle’s car is not out front. There is no sound of Horace barking madly at his approach.  Marcus is glad for the chance at solitude. To avoid questioning by family and neighbor alike.  The porch has thawed quite a bit in his absence, rivers running down the concrete face into the garden below.  He carefully makes his way up the two steps, ice crunching, slush squelching under his trainers.  Marcus unlocks the front door and grabs the push broom from its corner just inside the entry.  
  
He spends the next quarter hour clearing the three stoops of all icy remnants.  
  
That done, Marcus achingly shuffles back into his flat,  replacing the broom and hanging his satchel and keys on the pegs.   He stands in the opening of entry and front room, just looking around. Looking for what’s missing.  
  
Surely Esca was here to pick up something he’d forgotten when he left last week.  
  
But nothing seems out of place.  
  
Marcus slowly makes his way through the front room, visually cataloguing the general clutter, searching for a blank space.  Nothing.  He strips off his muffler and gloves, shoving them into his coat pockets. He drops the coat onto his couch and moves on.  
  
The kitchen hasn’t changed.  
  
Upstairs, the bathroom is just as he left it that morning.  
  
Marcus is confused. Nothing seems to be missing.  He enters his bedroom and toes off his shoes, leaning heavily against the wall for support.     
  
When he turns around, Marcus notices his closet door is closed.  He never shuts that damn door in the morning.  Frowning, he opens it and peers inside.  There’s a gap in the line of clothing hanging on the rod.  An empty hanger.  A bigger frown.  Esca never kept his clothes in Marcus’ closet.  
  
He leaves the door open and stumbles to his neatly made bed, falling flat on his face across the wide mattress.  No more thinking. Marcus shifts until he is under the thick blanket and shoves his hand under the pillow, trying to get warm and comfortable. Sleep will be good. Things will be better when he wakes up.    
  
It occurs to him just before sleep sets its claws firmly in his consciousness, that he didn’t make his bed that morning either.  

* * *

Esca’s head hurts.    
  
Bright lights. Screaming siren. Poking hands...  
  
 _The flat is messy. Like always. Front room barely passable, the couch covered in papers and text books and take-out containers growing their own ecosystems._  
  
 _The kitchen is a wasteland._  
  
Esca blinks into the light, squinting. A face above him, talking, but he can’t understand. He can’t quite remember. “ Don’t tell M-Marcus... ”  
  
 _His desk is utter chaos. Sadly, a thick layer of dust covers the laptop and assorted school paraphernalia. Unused for too long._  
  
 _Upstairs, the bathroom is much as before. Damp towels over the rod to dry. Wet towel left on the floor. Two toothbrushes in the cup on the sink._  
  
His head is killing him.  
  
More bright lights. Different voices and poking hands. Esca closes his eyes again, the light too bright. “ Don’t tell Marcus! He can’t... can’t know that I-I-” Something seizes his body...  
  
 _The bedroom seems almost tidy. The bed._  
  
 _The bed._  
  
 _Pulling the blankets to rights. Fixing the pillows. Smoothing his hand over the slight indentation and imagining the body warmth._  
  
Rosemary’s voice, quiet and strained. The bright lights hurt. His head hurts. Esca forces his eyes open, despite the lights. “ Rosemary, don’t-” Why can’t he remember? “ Don’t tell Marcus! Please, Rosemary! Don-”  He shakes and shakes until his arm hurts and everything disappears into blackness...  
  
 _He never shuts the closet door. Standing wide open, the various colors hung in a row near the top, the bottom filled with shoes in varying conditions.  That stupid rugby jersey hanging so innocently._  
  
 _It started all this. Two years ago._  
  
 _Pulling it off the hanger. Slipping it over his head. Scent of laundry detergent, lingering deodorant and aftershave swallowing him up._  
  
“ Love you. Please... take care of yourself.”  
  
His head hurts less. Stiff and achey all over, though. Esca can still smell him, hot breath on his face, in his ear.  
  
Eyes barely cracking open, lashes so fucking heavy.  Esca sees the back. The limp. The calloused,  clutching hand at his side that pulls the curtain back.  Esca can’t keep his lids up...  
  
 _The air is biting cold.  Burrows deeper into the ratty muffler. Staring at nothing and locking the front door._  
  
 _A moment of weakness. Just a moment of weakness._  
  
 _Marcus can’t know about it. Can’t..._  
  


* * *

  
It’s been one of those days.  
  
Marcus woke up that morning determined to have a good day. Or at least not waste twelve hours brooding silently and scaring the undergraduates and his coworkers with his angry face.  
  
He also woke up nearly an hour late and missed the first half of his lecture on holistic large animal treatments.  
  
The day quickly went down the shitter from there.  
  
Half-arsed notes. Lost assignment. Coffee in his lap. Wallet left at home. No lunch. A forgotten and unstudied for exam on equine digestive disorders. Forgotten text book. Water fountain spray in his face.  
  
Marcus had gotten one glimpse of Esca. The bandage was gone, the bruising intense, the fresh scar- as Rosemary predicted- not that impressive.  Esca had not made eye contact.  
  
By the time his shift started at the clinic, Marcus was on the edge and preoccupied.  
  
And, of course, the horses sensed it.  
  
The moment Marcus shuffled behind an old draft horse with cataracts, the distressed beast lashed out. A grazing blow on his right thigh. It was enough.  Marcus refused to leave and the senior resident put him to work in the back office, updating computer files.  Marcus limped out at closing time, the intern remaining on duty wishing him a better night.  
  
Cub waited for him at the rear exit. Bag of take-out steaming in the frozen air.  Marcus readily threw his arm over the younger man’s shoulders and allowed himself to be helped home.  
  
Dinner was quiet and companionable.  
  
The take-out cartons litter the coffee table. Lingering scent of spicy pork and veggies. Cold noodles on a paper plate.  Warm beer swimming in the bottles. Ice pack resting on his throbbing thigh.  
  
Marcus leans back against the couch cushions and closes his eyes, carefully stretching out his aching leg.  There’s a cricket game playing on the telly. England vs India. He’d simply turned it on, not bothering to change the channel and Cub had seemed thoroughly entranced by the match as they ate dinner.  Marcus couldn’t care less about it. Even as a distraction.  
  
“ There’s more beer in the ice box, if you want any.” He mumbles from beneath a broad hand, covering his face to help block out the light of the television. Deepen the darkness he wants to just drown in. Forget everything.  
  
He should just go to bed. He’s tired and hurts enough to pass out the moment his head hits the pillow.  He should excuse himself, tell Cub to lock up when he leaves, and head upstairs.  
  
To his empty bed.  
  
Marcus can’t face it. Not yet.  
  
Despite the pain- physical and emotional- Marcus wants to linger here. With Cub’s sweet silence and solid presence at the other end of the couch.  For just a bit longer, Marcus wants to not feel alone.  
  
There’s a shift of weight on the couch.  Marcus assumes Cub is getting up to grab the offered beer.  He startles at a light touch on the hand covering his face.  Dropping it, Marcus blinks and looks over at the young man now sitting right next to him.  He can’t quite decipher Cub’s expression. “ Need something?”    
  
Cub nods. But makes no other move.  
  
Marcus furrows his brow. Normally, Cub simply retrieves the item in question or uses his sign language. Or writes it down, if all else fails.  Marcus sits up, flinching as the move jostles his sore leg. “ You know you’re welcome to anything in the kitchen. You can help- ”  Cub leans to the side, fitting his body against Marcus’, slipping his arm around the older man’s shoulders,  “ yourself.”  
  
Marcus freezes. Holds his breath.  Cub seems not to notice, his wiry arm pulling Marcus closer. Silver head resting against the darker head.  Cub smooths his palm across the back of Marcus’ neck, squeezing gently.  Marcus interprets the intent and releases the air trapped in his lungs. Does his best to relax in the embrace. Accept the comfort being offered and not question how the ever perceptive Cub knows exactly what’s wrong with him. What he needs.  
  
He should say something. But Marcus has no idea what, doesn’t want to talk about Esca or what’s been going on since their fight.  He’s pretty sure Cottia has filled in their little circle of friends.  And he doesn’t want to just sit here and whine in the dark.    
  
Marcus pushes his own arm around the slimmer shoulder, his own broad hand on the back of the slender neck.  He pulls Cub close, foreheads resting together, noses not quite touching. “ Thanks.”  
  
Minutes pass. Cub snuggles closer, his head resting on Marcus’ shoulder.  Marcus begins to truly relax, his body slumping comfortably, his mind quiet. Almost out of habit, he slips his fingers through the silver hair, casually petting Cub’s head. He's always been fascinated by this color. Thick, not silky, but not too coarse. Cub nudges closer, nose still cold from the walk over.  Marcus shivers as Cub brushes his nose against the side of his neck.  He pulls the younger man closer, offering more warmth in the chilly flat.  Cub eases his hand under the bottom hem of Marcus' long-sleeve shirt. Warm fingertips, hot palm caressing the skin just above Marcus' belt.  Marcus pauses, lungs again paralyzed.  
  
He shouldn't do this. Marcus knows this. Not just because of Esca, but because of Cub.  Cub, who looks up to him. Who depends on him.  Who trusts him.  
  
But... Marcus doesn’t want to be alone. He’s so tired of being alone.  
  
And Esca wouldn’t even look at him today.  And Cub is right here, offering.  
  
Raspy breath, unsteady pulse. Marcus barely tilts his chin and presses his lips against pale skin and silver hair.  He’s shaking. Marcus tenses, stilling the tremors. Cub pushes more purposefully against his neck, mouth pressing softly against stubble-rough skin and Marcus has to lift his chin to give more access.    
  
He feels exceedingly vulnerable. In every possible way.  
  
Cub takes the encouragement and runs with it.  Marcus finds his mouth captured, gently invaded by tongue and lips and sharp teeth that he’s always been curious about. That hand crawling under Marcus’ shirt. Wanting. Touching.  Touching.  
  
He hasn’t touched in weeks. Been touched in weeks.  
  
Marcus trembles and brings his hand up, fumbling underneath Cub’s hoodie and the t-shirt under that.  Cub’s skin is warm and satiny soft. It feels... heart-breakingly incredible. An odd energy sweeps over Marcus, an intense need fueling his motions. More aggressive. More forceful.  He thrusts his tongue between Cub’s lips, slides both hands along his back.  Marcus doesn’t care why Cub is doing this. He’s been brought too low to question the why.  
  
Cub apparently agrees with the quickened pace. After letting Marcus indulge in the deep kiss for several long moments, he breaks away.    
  
It’s all a blur to Marcus. Blue fabric. Red fabric. Ivory white skin and scattered silver hairs. Marcus grimaces as the ice pack falls off his leg. Cub straddles his left thigh, still careful of the right, and dives back into the heated kiss.  
  
Warm touches. Weight against his body. Heartbeat thudding close to his own. Marcus folds his hands over Cub’s hips. Tight, possessive hold. Desperate. Uncontrolled.  
  
Cub places a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, gentle, barely holding him in place.  
  
It’s different. From Esca. Esca would grip him tightly and wrap-  
  
Marcus grunts, deep in his throat, and grips harder. This is Cub. Here. With him. Now.  
  
He dares to look up and catches those dark, glorious eyes gazing down at him. Perfectly clear, guileless. Wanting. Understanding.  
  
He falters and loosens and eventually lets go completely. His hands fall onto Cub’s thighs.  Marcus rests his forehead against the boy's temple. " I'm sorry. So sorry, Cub. I just... I can’t."  He takes a steadying breath and leans back, reaching out to retrieve the discarded shirt and hoodie.  
  
Cub takes them in hand, slowly moves off.  Marcus stares at the telly, Cub redressing in his peripheral.  He expects Cub will leave now; rejected and embarrassed. Most likely with a new found distrust of his mentor.    
  
Marcus feels like a complete shit.  
  
He slumps, closes his eyes. Marcus consciously controls is breathing. In and out, slowly, through his nose.  He feels the change of pressure on the cushions, hears Cub stand and walk away.   Marcus will deny the tiny hitch in his breathing.  
  
Hands on his legs, tugging them onto the couch. A pillow shoved under his right knee. Marcus’ eyes snap open. Cub stands over him, pulling him into a comfortable reclining position on the couch.  Throwing a thick blanket over him.  His expression... Another blanket is taken from the nearby chair and Cub crawls over Marcus, wedging his body between Marcus and the couch back, pulling the second blanket over them both.    
  
The silver head lays on his shoulder, a thin arm thrown over his waist.  Cub snuffles and wiggles, getting situated. At last, he stills. A deep sigh warming a spot on Marcus’ chest.  
  
Marcus is too stunned to protest. Too weak. Too grateful.  
  
He ignores the burning in his eyes and slides his hand into the thick hair, palm cupped over Cub’s crown. Marcus thinks he can sleep now.  
  


* * *

  
Marcus has to talk to Esca. Today.  
  
He’s going to go insane, otherwise.  
  
Their schedules at the clinic have kept them separate and Marcus is fairly certain it’s Dr. Stephens’ tactic. The old man dislikes Marcus anyway, but he knows the good doctor is soft on Esca.  Dr. Stephens probably thinks he and Esca had a falling out over Cottia and is happy to stick it to Marcus.    
  
But today, Marcus is filling in for Cub- who has come down with a nasty stomach virus and Marcus has sworn to bring him something other than tea to drink after the shift-  in the small animal rotation.  And Esca’s shift overlaps his by 30 minutes.  
  
He has 30 minutes to get, and keep, Esca’s attention. See how Esca is doing. Carefully assert his own feelings. Test the waters of this horrid, so-called space and see where he stands.  
  
Marcus maneuvers himself into the kennel area the moment he hears Lynne greet Esca coming through the front door.  He checks the medication schedule and begins dosing a row of caged rabbits.  
  
He has a particularly hyper Britania Petite in the crook of his elbow when Esca walks in.  
  
Esca pauses just inside the narrow room, staring at Marcus. Surprise is written clearly across his face.  Marcus considers it his first victory; cracking that controlled exterior.    
  
He’s mentally rehearsed this moment for several days.  Giving a small, but sincere, smile, Marcus merely glances up and then goes back to checking the rabbit’s stitches.  His blood is rushing in his ears, almost deafening.  The rabbit reacts by kicking wildly. Marcus forces himself to breathe, to turn his back on Esca, and put the white rabbit  back into the cage.    
  
If he doesn’t push it. Maybe Esca won’t run.  
  
Marcus takes out an older Himalayan Rabbit, named Lelu, that’s perfectly happy to lay bonelessly in his arms while he doses it.  He waits.  
  
He doesn’t hear the door open, footsteps walking out, the door closing.  
  
Instead, Marcus listens to the soft padding of Esca’s Converse on the concrete floor.  Scrape of a clipboard taken from the wall, rustle of papers.  Marcus turns slightly, just enough to catch sight of Esca’s profile as he studies the charts.  The bruising is almost entirely gone now. The new scar is barely visible under his brushed down hair.  
  
“ Where’s Cub today?” Esca’s voice is low and very off-hand.  
  
Marcus instantly wonders if Esca knows what happened between he and Cub last week. He gently rubs behind the long ears and stares at the bunny as he answers. “ Sick. Spewing from both ends; like Cottia last week. “   The virus has been making its rounds of the vet college for the past month. Marcus assumes his sudden anti-social habits have helped him to avoid it. So far. “ Should be back in action in a few days.”  It sounds wrong in his ears, but he knows it shouldn’t to Esca. Unless Cub told him about what happened. Which Marcus seriously doubts.  
  
“ Poor bloke. I hope he gets better, then.” Esca gives his genuine sympathies in the same low tone, moving to the opposite row of cages and meticulously checking his patients’ progress.  
  
Marcus puts Lelu back and opens the next cage. His back to Esca. Just listening as he tries to focus on the last rabbit in his row. A black Miniature Lop kitten with half an ear missing. It’s a rescue and will have to be placed in the shelter as soon as it’s healed. Marcus doubts it’ll come to that. The girls have been cooing over the tiny fluff ball for two days and he is fairly certain Lynne will be the one to adopt it.  She’s the one who named it ‘Cadbury’.     
  
Cadbury fits perfectly in Marcus’ palm as he checks the scabbing on the amputated ear for any signs of infection. Stalling, waiting for Esca to work his way closer before speaking.  They’re almost shoulder to shoulder before Marcus plucks up the courage and finds a few coherent words. “ … How are you?”  He swallows, mouth dry, jaw tense. Cadbury stares blankly up at him. No help at all.  
  
There’s a short pause, then, “ Good. Still itches like hell, but good.”  Esca doesn’t turn around. He’s giving worm meds to a calico. “ Rosemary gave me the package. Thanks.”  
  
Marcus can hear the calico Esca just finished dosing purring loud and clear. “ You’re welcome.” He keeps it simple.  The package contained 4 bags of Mini-Snickers bars, Esca’s favorite.  Marcus is thankful for Rosemary playing messenger.    
  
His query should have been more specific, though. Marcus wants to know about the injury, of course. But that’s only part of it.    
  
Marcus really wants to know how Esca is doing without him.  Does he miss Marcus? Think about him? Or is Esca better off? Is he happy without Marcus? Is he happier with that arrogant shit, Ronan?  
  
Cadbury snuffles against his fingers, disrupting his melancholy thoughts.  Marcus shifts his weight to his left leg, almost brushing shoulders with Esca.  He opens his mouth to ask the same question in a different way.  
  
Esca beats him to it. His voice is even quieter than before, barely heard above the general din of wounded animals.  “ How’ve you been, Marcus?”  He’s moved on to a gray striped tom cat with a broken tail. The cat gives a few obligatory growls then willingly allows Esca to prod the bandages.  
  
Marcus turns his back as well, Esca out of sight. The impulse to lie, to put on a show of false bravado, is strong. But he knows it won’t fool Esca; will most likely piss him off instead. “ Surviving.” He replies honestly. Cadbury begins to fall asleep in his hand. Marcus doesn’t want to put him down yet. This whole talking thing is easier if he has something to fidget with.  He pets the bunny’s head and gazes at his empty cage. “ Rather badly, but surviving. “  Esca moves behind him, still going about his rounds. Marcus knows he’s in Esca’s way.    
  
“ I’m sorry to hear that.” Esca sounds sincere.  Marcus turns his head to see the younger man squatting in front of a larger cage with a  female wolfhound curled up on a pallet. It’s one of Ronan’s dogs.   Esca speaks softly to it, in his own language, smoothing his hand over the large head.   Marcus understands the words spoken and wishes he wasn’t so fucking jealous of a damned dog.  
  
“ Nothing to be done about it, s’pose. ” Shrugging, Marcus keeps Cadbury in one hand and steps away from the cages. He finds the charts for the animals he’s checked and begins making his notes, initialing and dating. “ Just have to keep trucking.”  No bitterness. No accusation. Marcus feels surprisingly calm now. Apparently, admitting that he’s been utterly miserable for the past two months- with Esca awake to hear the confession- is all he feels he needs to state his case.  
  
He’s miserable. He’s miserable because Esca is gone and will continue to be miserable until Esca comes back. And he’ll keep on keeping on, even if Esca never comes back.  
  
Marcus hates to think this, but he’s beginning to accept the possibility that he’s lost Esca. Forever.  
  
Today, he can think about it with a rational sort of fatalism.  Tomorrow, probably not so much.  
  
“ Marcus, your time’s up.”  
  
Marcus looks up from his papers. Esca is already working on the opposite end of the row Marcus had begun.  He’s looking past Marcus toward the large digital clock on the wall.  16:05.  
  
It wasn’t enough time. Marcus painstakingly finishes the last page and hangs the clipboard up. Cadbury is still asleep.  He stands for a moment, unsure whether he should say more, fight harder. Or simply retreat gracefully.    
  
Obviously, he’s not going to get anything from Esca today.  Encouragement or denouncement.  
  
Esca is beside him before Marcus makes his own decision. The well-shaped hands fold over Marcus’, easing the small rabbit away.  Marcus glances at Esca’s face, taking a split second to enjoy the handsome features. He looks away, then, and reaches for the door handle. “ Laters.”  
  
Esca is quicker, always has been. Marcus’ fingers land on the back of Esca’s hand. Click of the lock. And Marcus nearly jumps out of his skin because suddenly he’s being kissed, gentle but demanding.  Marcus thinks he should probably refuse this gesture. But it’s Esca.  
  
It’s a brief thing and over much too quickly for Marcus’ liking.  He stands, dazed, his hand still covering Esca’s on the door.  Cadbury stretches in Esca’s palm, a tiny foot pressing against Marcus’ shirt.  He doesn’t know how they got to be so close.  
  
He stares at the bit of dark fur in Esca’s cupped hand. Marcus is at a loss.  
  
“ Come down to the pub tonight.” Esca’s soft voice near his face. “ I’m meeting Rosemary and Turk there. “  
  
Marcus nods dumbly. It’s Tuesday; trivia night at the pub. He’ll take it. A public place, no chance of private talks. He might even have some fun. Like old times. Except Marcus doubts Esca will be going home with him. That’s how trivia night used to end.  Not likely this time, however.  But Marcus agrees to it anyway. “ Usual time?”  
  
This time Esca nods wordlessly.  Unlocks the door and pulls his hand out from under Marcus’.  
  
Cadbury rolls over onto his back, all four paws in the air.  
  
Marcus takes a deep breath to dispel the spots in his vision and opens the door wide. Takes one step over the threshold.  
  
“ Same here, you know.”  Esca’s voice is slightly muffled, the younger man already turned back to the cages, carefully putting Cadbury away.  He doesn’t look at Marcus. “ Surviving. Rather badly.”  
  
Marcus absorbs this simple admission, letting it swirl around and expand and gel with his own thoughts and unreliable emotions.    
  
The tiny flare of hope is fanned. And Marcus walks away, letting the door shut behind him.  
  


* * *

Marcus doesn’t know exactly what’s happening.  
  
They’re celebrating at the pub. He remembers this, remembers entering the popular watering hole and immediately seeing the tight grouping of tables and chairs near the back filled with mostly familiar faces. Rosemary and Turk. Collin, Cub and Drew. Others that work with Cottia that he doesn’t know as well. Cottia’s high pitched, drunken laughter above the loud din of the Friday night crowd. Bright eyes and glossy lips. It’s her promotion party.  
  
Marcus remembers his first pint. And the second. He remembers Esca arriving nearly an hour later, flashing that brilliant smile, and sitting next to Cottia further down at the next table. But that’s okay, because he’s going to find a chance to talk to Esca tonight, maybe steal a kiss in the loo. Strengthen this tentative limbo they’ve been in for weeks. Since the incident.  
  
Maybe Esca will even come home with him, if Marcus doesn’t push it.  
  
He remembers thinking that, over his third pint.  
  
And then Collin makes a toast. And then Rosemary makes a toast. And then Cub is smiling shyly and bringing a round of shots to the table.  Marcus passes.   Drew gives him a comforting pat and drinks Marcus’ shot and makes a toast.  
  
Marcus remembers the heavy hand on his shoulder. Esca hops up to get something from the bar.    
  
The music isn’t loud, but the patrons are. It’s hard to hear anyone over the chaos of voices. Marcus looks up from his fourth pint and watches Esca with that cocky bastard that works with Cottia. Ronan.  Leaning against the bar and deep in conversation.  
  
Marcus turns his head. He remembers Drew giving him a comforting smile.  He blindly searches the table for a small glass and upends its contents.  Vodka. Marcus hates vodka.  He gladly accepts another from the waitress who returns with Esca and Ronan, her tray a shimmering circle of glass and alcohol.    
  
Ronan sits across from Esca. Marcus turns his head.  
  
Marcus remembers feeling sick.  
  
He’s not sure how much time has passed. Drew is talking to Cub next to him. Something about horses.  Marcus looks around the tables and sips the remnants of his warm beer. Esca’s place is empty. So is Ronan’s.   He doesn’t want to look for them. Marcus stands, unsteady, both legs weak.  He remembers mumbling to Cub, about needing to take a piss, and walking toward the back, concentrating on keeping his feet.  Then Esca’s laughter loud and clear. Marcus stops in front of the men’s loo, staring at the paint chipped door.  It opens suddenly, Esca’s grinning face appearing. Ronan is right behind him, grinning just as big.    
  
Marcus remembers... something. There’s a blur and Esca asking him if he’s okay and Ronan trying to shuffle past them both with his hand on Esca’s waist.  The entire world shifts slightly.  
  
He steps back, glares at Ronan who laughs and makes his way back to the tables. Esca is still here. Marcus breathes heavy, scent of piss and smoke and beer and Esca’s nice aftershave suffocating him.  He doesn’t want to ask. But he does anyway.  
  
Esca glares back, jaw tightening up as his nostrils flare. Marcus remembers Esca trying to move past him and grabbing his arm to keep him in the back hallway.  Proud chin tilting up, defiant. Marcus leans in, towering, wanting to intimidate. Voices rising.  
  
Accusations. Blame. Anger. Hurt.  
  
He’s yelling. At Esca. Crowding him against the wall so he can’t escape again. Except Esca shoves him off and pushes past him. Promise, a warning, that they will talk later but not fucking here. Marcus remembers a slow motion blur of voices and faces and grabbing Esca’s arm to yank him back.  Shouting in his face, intimate details exposed in the harsh atmosphere.  Insecurities raw and gaping.  
  
Esca’s face hardens. Stone cold.  
  
Marcus falters, the heat in his face flaring and dying under a cold sweat. It’s not quite as loud in the pub anymore. He remembers someone coughing nearby and glances. Ronan.  His face flushes again.  
  
Marcus opens his mouth. A touch at his elbow. Cottia’s hand on his arm, gently pulling him away. He doesn’t want to go, digs in his heels and protests. Drew and Turk approach. Cub anxiously chews his lower lip.  
  
But Esca is already walking out. Without another word.  
  
Ronan gives a smirk and slips out right behind him.  
  
Marcus hurts. All over. He lets Cottia lead him back to the table and is vaguely aware of Drew and Turk hovering nearby. Just in case.  He knows they’ll keep him here until they know that Esca and Ronan are long gone. Marcus remembers sitting down with a jarring thud. Someone rubs his back. He’s pretty sure it’s Cub.    
  
Marcus now realizes what’s happening.  
  
Esca is leaving him. For good.

* * *

  
Cottia begs him to wait. To let Rosemary and Turk  drive him home. To let Drew walk with him. It’s late and cold and Marcus is upset. And drunk.  Marcus knows Cottia is worried and he appreciates the kindness. Especially since he’s effectively ruined her party.  
  
He wants no company. Cottia kisses his cheek and Cub walks him to the corner, reluctant to leave his mentor.  Marcus ruffles his hair and sends him back inside with a forced smile.  
  
He wants to walk home. Alone.  
  
The short walk ends without incident, Marcus slowing his pace as he approaches the block of flats. There is a light on in his Uncle’s window. A shadow passing in the frame of light. Uncle is up. Marcus guesses Drew called him, worried that Marcus might not make it home.  He shuffles past and makes his way up the stairs, booted feet heavy on the stoop as he unlocks the door to his own dark flat.  
  
Inside, Marcus flips the switch and stands in the brightly lit entry.  
  
Empty.  
  
Lost.  
  
Marcus glances around one last time and falls onto the bench. He slumps back against the wall.  
  
He’s gone. Esca is gone.  
  
Gone.  
  
Marcus sucks in a deep breath and holds it, struggling to remain in control.  He must keep his shit together, can not fall apart now that he has people depending on him. He must shove forward.  
  
Marcus can’t breathe.  
  
A key in the lock, the door swinging open and barely missing Marcus’ right leg.  Marcus jerks his head up. He exhales in a startled huff, with the barest hint of a whimper.    
  
He watches Esca close the door and shift in the small space of the entry, his trainers padding softly on the wood floor.  Marcus shakes his head, unbelieving.  He closes his eyes and trembles.  
  
Esca is gone. He’s not coming back here. Not here. Not after that.  
  
“ … Marcus.” That beloved voice is not whispering his name. “ Marcus, look at me.”  
  
A soft, warm breath ghosts over Marcus’ face; strong smell of hops. Familiar. Marcus forces his eyes to open and looks everywhere except at the grey eyes looking up at him.  Esca is kneeling on the floor at his feet, the faded knees of his jeans pressed tight against the wood.  “ You left.”  It is all Marcus can get out of his dry mouth.  Not an accusation. His fingers twitch in his lap, wanting to touch and not daring.  
  
“ Yes.” Esca’s voice close to his face. Marcus watches Esca’s hands laying motionless on his thighs. Another wave of hot, beer scented air. “ I’m sorry.”  
  
“ No. No, not... not your f-fault.”  Marcus shakes his head. His face is heating up, twisting up in pain and repressed tears and the terror that this slight bit of hope is going to be crushed. He makes a futile hand gesture, abandons it, and locks his gaze on Esca’s face; his clear grey eyes and thin lips pressed tightly together.  “ Are... are y-you... staying with... there?”  Marcus can’t finish and he hates the blatant hitch of desperation in his voice.  
  
Esca pauses long enough that Marcus feels the swell of panic bursting inside him. He lets go of that hope, searches for resignation. Marcus looks down at his lap and twists his fingers into the hem of his jacket.     
  
A slow head shake, finally. Familiar, cool hands cupping his face, tilting it, keeping Marcus from looking away. “ Here.” Esca speaks deliberately, with that soft lilt that defies the heaviness of the word’s intent.  
  
Esca’s thumbs brush the outer corners of Marcus’ eyes.  
  
Marcus bites back the relieved sobs and shakes uncontrollably in Esca’s arms.  
  


**end**

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to everyone who reads, kudos' and comments!!!


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